Now Cracks A Noble Heart
by Katana Black
Summary: There was one person Hamlet could turn to. There was another reason why Ophelia killed herself. There was no way he'd let anyone find out. A HamletxHoratio fic. Warnings: yaoi, sexual situations, anachronism, literary liberties
1. Now Cracks A Noble Heart

A/N: This fanfiction contains yaoi, as well as a bit of anachronism. Also, I've taken literary liberty to use the much debated teenage Hamlet (as opposed to the 32-year-old Hamlet).

* * *

_Now Cracks a Noble Heart…_

In the chilling darkness of the early morning hours, the crown prince of Denmark found nothing but warmth in the arms of his lover. His fingers clutched desperately at Horatio's back as he writhed against the ivory sheets, pleasure coursing through his blood like the dawning sun's rays across the sky. Delicate caresses drifted through his short hair, trailing down the side of his flushed face. Horatio's lips found his, a kiss filled with the fragile tenderness of a rose petal.

"My prince," gasped Horatio. "My dearest…_Hamlet_!" Hamlet's legs wrapped around his lover's waist as Horatio thrust harder into him, one hand grabbing hold of Horatio's own above his head, and the other reaching down between their bodies. Breaths came in short, harsh pants as each climbed higher and higher to his climax.

"Hor…Horatio," breathed Hamlet as he flexed his hips to meet Horatio's strokes, "give me more, harder. I can't—I can't stand this much—_ah!_"

Squeezing their joined hands, Horatio covered Hamlet's lips, and with a particularly violent thrust, brought them both to the explosive end of their love-making. Their sweat-glistened bodies lay tangled together on the bed, the heated air finally cooling around them. Horatio lazily trailed his upturned lips down the side of Hamlet's face, slipping out of him to lay by his side.

Hamlet turned to rest his head against Horatio's chest, gently stroking delicate fingers against the tanned skin. He hummed happily, allowing himself a rare smile in the privacy of Horatio's embrace. Ever since his father's unexpected death and his mother's hasty remarriage, nothing, not even Ophelia (especially Ophelia, he thought with distaste), seemed to make him feel joy anymore. Nothing, save for the comforting smile and calming voice of his Horatio.

"I'm glad you've come back to visit, Horatio," he said quietly, tilting his head up to see Horatio's face. "I've been terribly dreary since the funeral and wedding." Hamlet frowned, even the mere memory of the events enough to sour his mood.

Horatio grinned cheekily and said, "Of course, Lettie. After all, what are best friends for?" He raised an eyebrow and poked Hamlet in the shoulder, daring him to keep the frown upon his face.

Hamlet easily gave in to Horatio's light teasing, letting a few stray laughs escape his mouth. "Friends," he whispered with a wink, "how laughable. If they knew just how close we are, I fear my mother and Claudius would exile you from the country altogether!"

The pair laughed, Hamlet's deeper tones blending with Horatio's lighter ones in natural harmony, until Hamlet clapped a hand over Horatio's mouth. "Hush," he said urgently.

A knock sounded at the door. "Hamlet? Is everything alright? I thought I heard a noise," said his mother.

"I'm fine," Hamlet called out. "I must have been talking in my sleep and I woke myself up."

"Just as well," said Gertrude, "for I wish to speak with you. May I come in?"

"Uh—ah—of course, mother," Hamlet replied, frantically glancing between Horatio and the door. Finally, he pushed the other teen beneath the coverlet and piled his pillows on top of him as his mother came through the door.

The queen made her way over to her son's bedside, carefully shielding the flame of the candle she held in her hand. Setting it down on the table, she sat next to him and lovingly caressed his brow. "You look sweaty," she observed worriedly. "Are you sure you are alright?"

Hamlet shook his head. "I'm fine, mother," he assured her. "Just a nightmare, that's all."

Gertrude nodded in understanding. "Of course," she said faintly.

"Hamlet, I know you are still upset about your father's death, but…please, for your sake and mine, try to lift your spirits. Claudius is eager to accept you as his son, yet you reject him so violently, and Ophelia has been telling me how distant you are as of late. I love you and want nothing but the best for you, darling."

Hamlet bit his tongue, holding back the thousand retorts he so desired to spit out, choosing to reply with only a humble, "Of course, mother. I love you as well and thank you for your concern."

Gertrude eyed her son warily for a moment before rising to leave the room without another word.

Hamlet sighed in relief and quickly uncovered his lover, who gasped dramatically for air as soon as he was released. "By God, Hamlet, I thought you would do me wrong by _murder_, so long was I underneath—"

"Horatio." Hamlet stopped his friend's joking with a serious tone and pleading glance.

"She wants me to accept Claudius as my new father, yet how can I? So soon after my father's death she remarries," said Hamlet derisively, "and expects me to follow her example and forget? Never."

Horatio recognized the emotion behind Hamlet's words, and, offering none of his own, simply wrapped his arms around the blond. He pulled him close, trying to convey with touch that for which words alone could not suffice. They fell asleep like that, Hamlet clinging desperately to the single solace his life had to offer, and Horatio, happy to oblige his prince.


	2. Good Night, Sweet Prince

A/N: This fanfiction contains yaoi, as well as a bit of anachronism. Also, I've taken literary liberty to use the much debated teenage Hamlet (as opposed to the 32-year-old Hamlet).

* * *

_Good Night, Sweet Prince…_

"Absolutely infuriating," fumed Hamlet as he paced back and forth in the garden.

"Mm-hm," agreed Horatio absently, absorbed in the book he was reading. The two had escaped to the private serenity of Elsinore's gardens. The heated air was filled with the heavy scents of flowers' perfume and the soothing sound of buzzing bees. Aged statues dotted the floral scenery, and the tranquil murmur of water falling over rock completed the idealistic escape the prince loved to employ.

"Honestly, how dull does he think I am? Does he take me for a foolish infant willing to believe _anyone_ in authority?" The blond prince threw a hand into the air, gesturing impatiently.

"Of course," replied Horatio, turning a page in his novel.

Hamlet paused to cross his arms and glare at Horatio. "And should you agree with me one more time, I shall take this pike and run it through your bloody head," he said in a stern tone, motioning at a garden post.

"I shall follow you to the death, Lettie," mumbled Horatio, brow furrowed as he adjusted his thin-rimmed glasses.

Hamlet sighed. "Ratio," he said quietly.

No response.

"HOR—A—TI—O," he called again, cupping his hands around his mouth. When the other still did not reply, Hamlet deftly snatched the book from Horatio's hands and held it high above his head.

"Wha—" Horatio stood and reached for his novel, but Hamlet stepped back, just beyond his extended reach.

"Hamlet," said Horatio, pouting crossly.

Hamlet regarded him evilly for a moment, and then caved to his friend's pitiful face. Handing over the novel, he said contritely, but with a note of petulance, "I'm sorry. You weren't listening to me."

Horatio took the novel from his hands and set it to the side, placing his glasses on top. Folding his arms around Hamlet, he murmured in his ear, "You're upset because his Majesty persuaded Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to act as spies on you, my prince."

"It's not that," protested Hamlet, turning in Horatio's arms to face him and delicately resting his hands on Horatio's hips. "I am angered that they thought they could hide it from me, those mindless fools. I am not stupid, nor am I mad. Claudius cannot play his tricks with me."

He turned his face to the side, glaring at the ground, as though the ground itself were at fault as well. Horatio held his chin resolutely and turned his face, bestowing a tender kiss upon Hamlet's firmly pressed lips. He could feel the tension slowly ebb from the young prince's body as Hamlet relaxed into the gesture, sneaking his arms around Horatio's waist.

"Ratio," he started as they broke apart for air, but Horatio quickly quieted him.

"Shh," he said, placing a hand on his lips, before covering them with his own once again. Hamlet breathed a sigh through his nose as Horatio ran an inquisitive tongue along the fullness of his mouth and parted his lips eagerly. Reaching up his hands to clutch at the nape of Horatio's neck, the young prince pushed his lover to the stone bench and straddled his waist in one fluid move.

He braced himself on his knees as he took control of the kiss in a rare display of boldness, gasping as his instinctual move to hold Horatio closer brought their clothed groins in contact.

"Hah…Hamlet," panted Horatio, "we're in the—the garden, my p-prince—where anyone could s-see us."

Hamlet paid him no mind, choosing instead to deliberately increase the friction between them. "I don't care," he whispered fiercely, "let them see us. I don't care." He lavished harsh bites along the smooth column of the brunet's neck, relishing in the throaty moan each new mark elicited.

Horatio held Hamlet's hips tight in a bruising grip as he continued his ministrations. The blond quickly moved from Horatio's neck to his shirt, loosening the buttons and hastily exposing his chest. With fingers trembling in anticipation, Hamlet caressed his torso, kissing his collarbone with a shaky laugh. He kept his legs firmly clamped around Horatio's waist as he undid the buttons on his own shirt, shrugging it to the ground where it lay forgotten in a heap.

"I want you, right here, right now," whispered Hamlet, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He quickly kissed Horatio, not giving him a chance to reply, but an incentive to agree. He shivered as he felt Horatio's chilly fingers dance up and down his sides with light strokes.

Horatio knew, once again, he had fallen to the blond's charm and pushed him down onto the bench, lying comfortably on top of him. "Very well, my prince," he said with a hint of a smirk, "as you wish." He latched his mouth onto the young man's neck, giving him much the same treatment he himself had earlier received. Hamlet's body arched beneath him as he gave a low groan and snatched wildly at Horatio's hair.

"Hamlet? Hamlet, where are you?"

The high-pitched voice reached Hamlet's ears as if travelling through a dream, hazy and unclear. But as the cries grew louder and ever closer, Hamlet realized who it was.

"Ophelia," he gasped in a panic. "dear _God_--Ophelia."

"Nn—what?" Horatio sat up as Hamlet beat against his chest, scrambling to find their easily discarded clothes.

"Ophelia's coming, looking for me," mumbled Hamlet, throwing Horatio's shirt at him and catching him in the face.

"What happened to 'I don't care'?" Horatio sat with an eyebrow raised, shirt still in hand and not on his body, much to Hamlet's chagrin.

Hamlet glared at him as he fumbled to button his own shirt. "Do shut up, Horatio," he said, but there was no real malice behind the words. "And put on some clothes, will you?"

Horatio grinned at his lover and friend. "As you wish, my prince."


	3. And Flights of Angels

Disclaimer: This fanfiction contains yaoi, as well as a bit of anachronism. Also, I've taken literary liberty to use the much debated teenage Hamlet (as opposed to the 32-year-old Hamlet).

* * *

_And Flights of Angels…_

It was a beautiful day outside, yet Horatio inexplicably found himself indoors, in the library, to be precise. "Leave it to Whittenberg to assign me work on leave,' he grumbled quietly to himself, though he needn't have bothered keeping his voice down. He was the only soul in the vast castle library, with naught but the dusty shelves and their equally dusty contents for company.

He turned pages in silence for another few minutes, resigned to his fate of another afternoon wasted, when the doors to the library creaked open, and someone joined him in his solitude.

As he rounded the corner, he saw it was Hamlet, as Horatio had hoped. "You look somewhat happy," he remarked, removing his glasses.

"Ophelia and I are no longer seeing each other," Hamlet said, strolling casually into the alcove and throwing his jacket over the back of an armchair. He slumped into the same chair, propping his head up on his hand.

"And?" Horatio waited patiently for the rest of the story.

"Her father," continued the blond prince, "urged her to stop seeing me. Commanded, really. And Ophelia, the obedient dolt, followed him to the letter."

"So…you're upset that she broke the relationship, not you," tried Horatio.

"A tad," admitted Hamlet, "but that's not what honestly irks me. Polonius, as well as Claudius, were spying on the entire encounter. They used her as a means to gauge my behavior in light of recent events." The blond prince sat back and smiled coldly.

Horatio noticed the subtle change in Hamlet's demeanor, and slowly closed the books on the table. "And no doubt you concealed the true nature of your emotions," he said, "and that is why you are here now."

"Of course I concealed my emotions," scoffed Hamlet, resting his face on the palm of his hand. "I played madness like a well-strung violin. I will not reward Claudius for his treachery and cunning. He is nothing to me."

"And Ophelia?" Horatio felt a small smile creeping across his face.

"What of her?" Hamlet returned Horatio's sly smile, and the two shared a moment of understanding that considerably lightened Horatio's day. No more of Ophelia meant more time with Hamlet to himself, something that never ceased to please him.

"I see," he murmured, turning back to his studies, trying to hide his excitement.

Though his flaw was inability to act (and also the reason why Horatio was superior in their relationship, much to his own annoyance), what he lacked in action, Hamlet made up for in observation. This being so, Horatio didn't stand a chance as Hamlet slowly rose and made his way over to the desk.

"So," he said casually, perching against the edge of the table, "I suppose that means we would have more time to spend together, right, Horatio?"

"Of course, Lettie," replied Horatio, glancing at him for a moment before turning the page in his book.

"And with more time, we could do more things," continued Hamlet, sneakily edging closer until his leg was situated next to Horatio's book, just outside his field of vision.

Horatio knew he couldn't keep his attention focused on his text, not with Hamlet so nearby and so tempting, so he closed the book with a heavy thud. "Yes, Hamlet," he answered slowly.

"Things…like this?" Hamlet slipped from the edge of the table down to Horatio's lap, straddling his hips easily. He leaned forward and, draping his arms over Horatio's shoulders, drew him into a languid and passionate kiss.

"Hmm," said Horatio as they pulled apart. "Or this." He deftly worked his hands underneath Hamlet's shirt, gently caressing the muscles of his torso before hastily unbuttoning the garment. Hamlet let his head drop back in ecstasy as Horatio leaned forward and bit his nipple, soothing the initial sting with a couple smooth strokes of his tongue.

Hitching gasps of pleasures escaped the young prince's mouth as Horatio continued to worship his body with his mouth. Hamlet's back arched into Horatio's harsh bites as he clutched frantically at his hair, mad with desire. "Ratio," he panted, "please. God, I love you."

With a dramatic sweep of his arm, Horatio knocked all of the books off the table in front of them, breaking contact with Hamlet to stand up. Hamlet locked his ankles around Horatio's back and grabbed his face for a bruising kiss, barely detaching for the necessary moments of air. Horatio impatiently climbed onto the table, laying Hamlet out beneath him.

It was all heat and lust as Hamlet worked on removing Horatio's shirt, never breaking eye contact with the other teen. As soon as the shirt was torn away from his shoulders, the brunet hungrily dove down for another kiss, fumbling with Hamlet's trousers all the while. He was finding it rather difficult, with Hamlet continually thrusting up at his hand and moaning, "Please, God, _please_, hurry up, Ratio."

Nearly sobbing with frustration, Horatio tore through the buttons, only noticing out of the corner of his eye as they flew off into some dark, distant, and most likely dusty corner. Hurriedly peeling the tight pants away from Hamlet's body, he almost came instantaneously as Hamlet's hand automatically wrapped around his erection.

"_Finally_," he moaned with a relieved sigh, his face relaxing into delight.

"Finally," echoed Horatio, averting his eyes as he tried to regain control of himself. "Christ in heaven above, Lettie. I want you—I _need_ you."

Hamlet's fingernails cut into the skin of Horatio's shoulder, etching tiny half-moons into his flesh. "Take me," brokenly groaned the crown prince, eyes squeezed shut and mouth slightly parted. "Now, Horatio, _please_. I'm yours, always yours."

Horatio captured Hamlet's drying lips in his, devouring his keening cries, wishing to the depths of his heart that they could always be this way. Always be together, through good times and terrible, always feel this sense of completeness, always feel loved. There was nothing more he could ask for than to see Hamlet's face, whether in joy or anger, in passion or asleep. They were one mind, one heart, forever.

"Always mine," he whispered back.

_

* * *

_

A/N: One more chapter after this, to come soon (after I finish the next chapters of ITBDLY and AT... .)!


	4. Sing Thee To Thy Rest

Disclaimer: This fanfiction contains yaoi, as well as a bit of anachronism. Also, I've taken literary liberty to use the much debated teenage Hamlet (as opposed to the 32-year-old Hamlet).

* * *

_Sing Thee to Thy Rest..._

He stormed into the room in a blind fury, Horatio following closely on his heels. The young prince snatched a porcelain vase from a nearby table and flung it across his room, watching with morbid satisfaction as it shattered against the wall. He then picked up the wooden end table and swung it against the wall, the loud crack echoing with finality.

Horatio looked on helplessly, not wanting to get hurt in the crossfire, but desperately needed to calm Hamlet down. It had been days since the incident at Ophelia's grave, and Hamlet had been deceptively composed. He was dreading the day when it would all finally catch up to the young prince, and that day was here. "Hamlet," he called out weakly.

Hamlet turned and glared at him. "What?" he shouted. "WHAT? What do you want from me? What does everyone want from me? I can't—" In frustration, he clutched at his hair and sat down heavily on his sofa. With a loud sigh, he covered his face with his hands and fell silent.

Horatio stood where he was, unsure whether or not Hamlet needed to be alone, but when he saw the first shudder rack his body, he hurried over to be with his lover.

As soon as he sat down, though, Hamlet sprang to his feet, exclaiming, "She's dead, Horatio. _Dead_. All because of me." He sat back down and stared at Horatio, tears streaming from his clear blue eyes.

Horatio gently held Hamlet's face in his hands, wiping away the tears as Hamlet closed his eyes and turned away. Enveloping him in a tight embrace, he murmured softly, "No, no, shhh--"

"No, no! Don't—don't try to make things better, Horatio," Hamlet pleaded, pushing away from his lover. He stood abruptly, clutching his hair with a wild desperation. "I killed her, Horatio. I killed her father, and now I've killed her." The distraught prince shook his head, repeating his self-sentenced crime over and over again, as if they were the only words left he knew how to say.

Horatio could see that Hamlet was on the brink of losing it all. Firmly grasping his friend by the shoulders, he held him still, saying, "Lettie, _please_, just listen to me. Please. This is not your fault."

Hamlet held a hand over his face, pushing soggy strands of hair from his dripping eyes. He looked away and said in a low voice, "She killed herself, Horatio. Because she found out—about _us_. She's _dead_."

"I know," whispered Horatio, "I know. But please, you cannot simply fall to pieces. For your sake—Hamlet, for _my_ sake, you must keep yourself together. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Hamlet. Please." He gently took hold of Hamlet's hand, bringing it away from his face and kissing it gently before kissing him. Horatio could feel the soft wetness of the tears on Hamlet's cheek, taste the bitter saltiness on his lips, and nearly wept himself as Hamlet buried his face in his shoulder. In truth, he knew there was only one thing he could do should he ever lose the prince; Horatio fervently wished it would never come to that.

The young prince's keening cries were muffled in Horatio's clothing as he wept, clutching onto Horatio, his life, his light. The moments that passed seemed like eternities, until Hamlet finally said with deadly decisiveness, "This ends, now. The only further death I shall allow is that of the traitor Claudius, and I assure you—"

He was interrupted by a knocking on his door. Hastily wiping his face, Hamlet motioned for Horatio to attend to whomever was there. The brunet returned with two letters in hand, one still unopened, the other unfolded as he scanned its contents.

"Rosencrantz and Guildenstern...they're dead," he murmured.

Hamlet laughed blearily. "Yes, of course," he said as Horatio handed him the letter. "I must have forgotten to tell you in all of the fuss lately. Those letters Claudius sent me to England with were for my execution. Thanks to good fortune, I was able to change their instructions to the demise of those two worthless fools."

Horatio stared at him for a moment. _Such a change from the Hamlet I once knew_, he thought to himself with a small smile. "Of course," he muttered. "And this one..." He handed Hamlet the other letter.

The blond prince opened the letter with a quick flick of his wrist, a frown steadily marring his face as he read to the end. "It says...Laertes wishes to challenge me to a duel, in a few hours from now," he said, looking up at Horatio, whose face darkened with disbelief.

"What?" Snatching the paper from Hamlet's hands to see for himself, Horatio scowled, "No doubt to try and avenge his dead sister."

"It's a duel, Ratio," Hamlet scoffed, "how much revenge could he stand to gain? He cannot harm me."

Horatio's eyes darkened at the prince's flippant attitude. "Hamlet--"

"Horatio," said Hamlet calmly, "I did not mean physically. You are the scholar of us both; decipher my meaning. If I am meant to die, I shall not die. If I am not meant to die, I shall. None of us know what our time here is meant to be, so it means nothing to die young." He leaned back and leveled a cool stare just to the right of Horatio's face, avoiding his gaze. A part of him was terrified that the lover who knew him so well would immediately recognize the emotions on his face.

The brunet was speechless with shock to hear such words from his friend and lover; the letter fluttered to the ground from his lifeless hand. "I—I wasn't aware that you—you _embrace_ death so, Hamlet," he stuttered coldly. "I didn't know what we have is of such little value--"

Hamlet seized Horatio by the wrist and pulled him into a passionate kiss. "You did not," he murmured, eyes gazing deep into Horatio's own, "let me finish, my little philosopher. Physical trauma means nothing to me. The only thing that truly matters to me is you, Horatio. You are the only one who could ever truly hurt me beyond remedy. A slight to you is a slight to me, one I will never stand for.

"I do not fear this duel because I do not fear Laertes," he continued in a rush. "He is looking for peace in the wrong place. The most he will gain from me is an apology for all that I have done to him. If he expects me to feel pain as he does...he obviously hasn't figured out my weakness." He delicately kissed Horatio's lips once more, only to have the brunet push him away with shaking hands.

Horatio turned his back to Hamlet and muttered harshly, "Then how can you agree to this duel, knowing that both Laertes and Claudius are after your blood?"

Hamlet shook his head softly, prepared to explain, but Horatio cut him off, spinning around sharply on his heel. "If I am the most important thing to you," he hissed, tears choking off his words, "if my happiness means more than the world to you, then how the hell can you throw your life away like this? I can't--"

The blond prince watched helplessly as Horatio succumbed to his tears, his body racked with shuddering sobs. "Horatio," he said weakly, before gathering him tightly in his arms.

They stood in broken silence until Hamlet whispered, voice thick with emotion, "Horatio, I _know_. Trust me, I know. But this must be done. I must end this thing with Laertes, and then Claudius. Yes, there is the risk that I may face death--" Horatio gave a soft whimper at this, and clutched harder onto his prince, "--however, would you rather me die fighting, or as the coward I once was?"

Horatio made a strangled sort of noise that might have been part laugh, part sob. "I would rather you not die at all, Lettie," he murmured. Before Hamlet could interrupt, he continued, "But I see you have made up your mind, and I—I shall support you."

Hamlet gently kissed Horatio, pressing their foreheads together. "Thank you. Besides, all this talk of death! My swordplay skills have increased dramatically since last I dueled, have they not? I believe all the practice we have done together has done much to improve--"

Horatio interrupted Hamlet's reassurances with a hiccupy giggle. "I believe the practice _we_ have done together will mean nothing in the ring, Hamlet," he said with a shy smile.

With a laugh, Hamlet hugged Horatio tight once more before pulling away. "Then I best away to the practice rooms," he said, turning towards the door.

Horatio hastily grabbed his wrist. "Wait," he said softly, eyes pleading.

Hamlet turned back to him, and Horatio then said, "Stay...please. Just...with me. I mean—what if—" He faltered, words trailing away as he refused to voice his fear.

The lighthearted grin on Hamlet's face melted away like a light snow on the first day of spring, and he locked eyes with his lover. "What if...indeed," he whispered, drawing Horatio closer for a passionate kiss.

The brunet responded eagerly, fervently, his dark grey eyes sliding shut almost immediately. As of late, Hamlet had become more the aggressor in their relationship, but Horatio didn't mind. In fact, he relished the feel of the blond's delicate hands as one held onto his hip while the other gently caressed his face. His lips moved hungrily against Hamlet's, pushing them both higher and higher, closer to that unseen barrier they were both trying to break, until Horatio finally lifted Hamlet into his arms. The blond automatically assumed a position he had been in time and time before, wrapping his legs around Horatio's waist and his arms around Horatio's neck.

It made Horatio think of the way things used to be, before Hamlet's father had been murdered, before the weight of an entire country had settled on his friend's shoulders. As he carried his lover into the bed chambers and they each fell into their default roles, he was reminded over and over again of everything that they shared—body, mind, heart, and soul. As he impatiently tore off Hamlet's white blouse and saw the wry twist of Hamlet's grin, he was instantly reminiscent of every time he had seen that smile on his best friend's face, and of every time that smile had been because of him. When Hamlet began moaning unceasingly of his growing desire, Horatio already knew what his lover wanted from him. He pressed him to the mattress and held his head in place by his hair, harshly biting his neck and then soothing the skin with languid laps at his sweaty skin. And as he felt the familiar prickle of his prince's nails digging into the skin at his hips, he couldn't help but laugh at the memories of all the scars they each had, mementos of their escapades together. This...this would just be another scar they would soon laugh over.

With light kisses and feathery touches, their love-making was unhurried and sensual, each trying to reassure the other that things would be alright, as long as they had each other. Horatio could still feel, though, the slight tremor in Hamlet-- his fingers, stomach, his whole body—that belied the confidence he portrayed, the confidence that Horatio so desperately needed to believe in.

"My Hamlet...my prince," he choked out as they both came, his hot, sated body sticking to Hamlet's, his lips resting against the wildly beating pulse in Hamlet's neck. "Mine...forever."

Horatio could feel his lover's breath whisper past his ear, ruffling his hair. "My Horatio," he murmured, his fingers stroking along the curve of Horatio's back, "I will never leave you."

* * *

_The Rest...Is Silence_

It was terribly hard to breathe; ironically, it was almost the same feeling he felt whenever Horatio was near. His vision faded in and out as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He had offered up his peace to Laertes, accepted the duel as a gentleman, fought honorably as a prince, and this...this was to be his end, a death of treachery and deceit.

"HAMLET!" Horatio was hysterical as he ran out into the midst of the chaos. The entire court present had fallen silent as first the queen, then Claudius, and finally Laertes himself fell dead, all victims of the king's selfish scheme. Now they could only watch in growing despair as the prince's beloved friend rushed to his side in his final moments.

"Hamlet, no, no, no," he frantically said, his voice cracking several times. "This isn't happening, you're fine, you are _fine_, you will _live_, Hamlet, no, no..."

Hamlet gave a weak laugh, raspy and wheezing. But how he wished that this day, this hour, this minute, would never had come. "Oh, Horatio," he whispered, "my dearest, most cherished Horatio. I am but for dead. You were—right, as usual." Claudius, if only he had done it when he'd perfect opportunity.

Tears sprung from Horatio's eyes anew. "No, no, please don't say that to me, please, if you love me, Hamlet," he sobbed, placing trembling fingers along the side of Hamlet's rapidly paling face.

"Shhhh," Hamlet whispered, touching his hand to Horatio's hand briefly. "Don't cry for me, Horatio, you know it breaks my heart to see you cry."

"I...I can't," he said, his words nearly drowned out by his cries, "I just can't. I can't live without you, Lettie, I can't, I can't..."

Hamlet squeezed Horatio's hand with as much urgency as he could muster. "You must, my darling, my love. You must live, and tell them everything. Of Claudius' deception and treachery. Of his..." The world suddenly became dark again, though Hamlet couldn't tell if this time it was his own eternal sleep.

Horatio screamed as Hamlet's eyes slid shut, desperately grabbing his shoulders and cradling his head in his arms. "No, no, don't go, I swear, I'll go with you...the cup...where's the cup...I'm sure there's a drop of poison left for me," he said, frantically searching for the poisoned wine.

Hamlet became aware of his surroundings again, though this time, he could barely keep his eyes open more than mere slits. But he needed to do this. He needed to make sure no one else would die because of him. "Horatio," he pleaded, "don't. Please."

With a gasp, Horatio glanced downward to confirm that his prince had not yet left him. "Hamlet," he said weakly, the salty tears dripping down his face and landing on Hamlet's cheek. Horatio smeared them away with his thumb and vaguely thought about all of the times he had cleared away Hamlet's own tears, and cried all the harder.

Hamlet struggled to raise his hand, his strength failing him in his last moments, and managed to get a weak grip on Horatio's shirt. "Live for me, Ratio. The best way for you to love me now...is tell them my story. Our...story," he whispered, voice naught but a mere breath of shaky air. "And Horatio, never doubt...I love you."

Horatio struggled even to breath as Hamlet, his prince, his best friend, his one and only love, drew his final breath, his eyes slipping shut for the last time, his body going lax all at once in his arms. It was as though his very body shared the same heart as Hamlet and wanted to stop beating along with his. With halting, broken breaths, he leaned down and pressed a final kiss to the dead boy's lips, breaking down in sobs. Horatio's anguished cries reverberated around the eerily still hall as he mourned the loss of all he ever had to live for.

"Good night, my sweet prince," he whispered, kissing each of Hamlet's eyelids in turn, tasting the bitterness of his own tears, "and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

* * *

A/N: Finally, this is done. I almost cried myself writing that last bit. Sorry it took so long, to those of you who were following it. I got really, really busy over the past six months or so. And also, sorry if the last half seems really crappy. I wrote it at midnight on four hours of sleep from the night before. But it was calling to me to get finished, so I answered. I hope you all like it, and thanks to those of you who reviewed/fav'd it!


End file.
